


( Reflections) For a long time I lived under vast colonnades

by Saladtrip



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Hurt, Intense internal monologuing, Loki/Thor but only if you want it, Spoilers for Thor:Ragnarok, honestly watch the movie or you will be lost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-25 14:11:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12533344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saladtrip/pseuds/Saladtrip
Summary: "I'm here" Loki says.A word, a second away from bolting, from leaving this damn place, from conjuring a dagger and stick it in his brother's neck. But here, damn him. Here.Loki finding his footing, losing it, finding it again.Started as a one shot, but I'm back for more. A series of reflections : less of a real "plot" and more of a journey.Heavy spoilers for Thor Ragnarok. I highly discourage reading this if you haven't seen the movie.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I went to see Thor Ragnarok last night and this was born from my absolute frustration with this movie. My thoughts about it will be at the end of this. 
> 
> Title from one of the many translations of La Vie Antérieure by Charles Beaudelaire 
> 
> Also I'm not a native English speaker so feel free to correct me if I've made any horrendous mistake while writing this 
> 
>  
> 
> And for those who don't wanna listen and want to read it even tough they haven't seen the movie :  
> S P O I L E R S B E L O W  
> Basically Asgard is destroyed and everyone flees on a ship. A lot of people die but it's never really mentioned so idk. Odin dies tho. And there is this one scene in the movie that lasts 30 secondes were Loki says "I didn't know you thought so little of me" and Thor responds "I thought the world of you"  
> And that's basically the only character development we get in the movie. Enjoy.

"I'm here" Loki says.  
A word, a second away from bolting, from leaving this damn place, from conjuring a dagger and stick it in his brother's neck. But here, damn him. Here.

The ship is drifting now through the void. Nowhere to go, for the moment at least. He would enjoy this, the thrill of crash-landing somewhere and having to rise again, to climb on top and make space for himself, in whatever way he could; was he not surrounded by a whole people, homeless and desperate. Trapped with them in the vaste expanses of space, with nothing to do but wait and pray, he feels awkward, uncertain.  
No trump card, no ace in the hole. His game is suspended for now, at least : he is unwilling to start a conflict here, where there is no place to flee; where a wrong move or a too angry strike could rip through the fragile sheet metal of the hull and send them all flying wild, and very dead, through the reaches of their galaxy.  
Nothing to do but to plot, to fantasise on improbable scenarios; to dream of vengeance and big reveals, of grandness and extravagance.  
Nothing to do, really, but to stew in his own juice; marinate in his own bitterness. A tired game, by now, but what can one do. At least it serves as a distraction. Keeps him occupied enough that he doesn't have to mingle with the common folk, his brother, his allies; to be reminded that, where everywhere else he excels, at this one thing, ineluctably, he fails. Times and times again. Nothing seems to work, and at last he feels weary of trying, of being obsessed with this one thing, this one place, when there are so many more in the universe that would have him, that he could shape and bend to his will and make his. Where he could prosper and rule and be king, finally. And be free of Asgard, of its yoke, of the memories that make his throat burn with shame, render his eyes dry with disappointment - he doesn't cry, anymore, or at least not as often : he always expects the worst, somehow, and when it inevitably happens, it is not the surprise it used to be : it feels like a price to pay, rather : what he gets for trying to mess up the perfect order of the universe. Playing and losing : when you gamble as much as he does, you know what you risk. Loss is part of the equation. Of the balance. Loss is a necessity. Loss is what gives meaning to the game, ultimately.  
And now Asgard is lost. Gone forever. There is nothing left of the golden realm, except for a scared people and their scarred king. And him, then. Whatever he is. Whatever he wants to be. He is not sure, presently.  
Now that the arched ceilings have crumbled, now that the great golden halls have collapsed, it is difficult to remember why he desired them so.  
Only their memory remains, and it burns so painfully, it is so insupportable, that he wonders how he has been able to ever live here.

Now it's just frightened bodies crowded in a stolen ship. No greatness in this, no flamboyance. For all he has always wanted to be loved, and adulated by them, he cannot do this. Cannot bear to help them, hold their hand, tell them everything is going to be alright. Cannot stand the idea of comforting them, when he has to comfort himself. And always had to. He cannot indulge their weakness for he cannot indulge his : when he has spent most his life thinking that whatever hurt him was a proof of his own shortcomings where he should have been stronger -was something he had to overcome himself - it's difficult to lend help to others. He has managed alone for so long, and felt so inadequate for not succeeding in triumphing over all his flaws, that it seems only fair, now, that it should be the same for them : that they should find a way to fix themselves, instead of seeking reassurance, compassion.  
He cannot offer any, either way : he has been so hard on himself that he has to be hard on them, too.

And they do not need him, anyway, when King Thor is here for them. The golden king in the golden realm - the latter fell, but the former remains.  
Seeing him bearing the burden, shouldering the role, he realises that maybe he was never meant to be king.  
Maybe he never wished it.  
Maybe he just wanted to prove himself, to rob his brother of the upper hand, to make him bend the knee and say "Brother, you beat me. I bow to you, for you deserve it."  
Maybe was it not about having the throne, but stealing it from him. Proving himself. Showing them all how wrong they were, to have thought so little of it. Making them see.  
Maybe it should not matter anymore. Maybe he should forget them all, the golden king on the golden throne, the golden people of the golden realm. He is Silvertongue, always an outsider, and maybe he should let it go, now. Asgard has fallen. Odin is dead. Let it go.  
Forget all he knows. Learn to live differently. Give up his deceptions. It feels wrong.  
In this drifting metal shell, he has nothing to do but think, poke and prod at his own brain, and uncomfortable thoughts make him want to run.  
But he cannot run.

He is here. A word, a second away from bolting, but bolting where ? There is no place to go. He cannot leave this ship. It makes him stressed, restless. Makes him want to conjure a dagger and sink it in his brother's neck. But what for ? He is trapped. His brother's minions would have his skin.  
Odin or Thor, it matters not, in the end : he is at the king's mercy nonetheless.  
It makes his skin crawl as he stand in front of his brother, and think, _that's it then. I'm where you wanted me to be, all along . Feels good, I bet. Feels right._  
Bitterness boils in him. By now he is so full of it that it mars his skin, he is sure. It can be read on his face. It can be seen with a look. It marks him. It is part of him.  
And as he stands in front of his brother, head held high, he bears it proudly. And he thinks, perversely _Look, then. See. See what you've made of me, brother. With your taunting and your jests. See what I am now_.  
And, forever oblivious, the king says nothing. Oh, well. 

"Earth, then ?" He inquires, in the most haughty tone he can muster.  
"That's what I said, yes", Thor responds absentmindedly.

Alright, then. He could remind him of how the whole of Earth despises him, right now, but he doubts it would change his mind. After all, Earth _loves_ his brother, he's heard. Something else to be bitter about, he supposes. He should not allow himself to wallow in self-pity, he knows. He feels ridiculous, already. He is better than this. But, well. There is a long road ahead. Perhaps he can indulge, for now. He turns to leave, just as his brother resumes speaking, sounding just as distracted.

"Although, brother, I can't help but notice that we haven't yet discussed your words on Sakaar."  
Loki does not know what words he's talking about, and more importantly he does not care. He spins and responds, saccharine. 

"I doubt there is anything to discuss, brother. Whatever your may be referring to, I'm certain I was quite clear in stating my intentions. I see no need to dwell on such matters, and neither should you."  
"Ah, Brother. Always so defensive. But didn't you say you'd rather stay on Sakaar ? And yet here you are."  
Of course.  
"And yet here I am" he repeats matter-of-factly.  
His brother looks at him for a bit. He holds his gaze.

"Where do we stand, then ? What do we do ? I can't imagine you'd want to stay on earth with me brother. But then I couldn't imagine you coming to help me, either, and look at us now. Defeating Hela Together. Saving our people together."  
"Your people" Loki corrects, like an afterthought. Thor sighs.  
"This again ? Loki. You fought for them. They are your people. Or at least they could be if you stopped being so..." he goes quiet, just as fast as he got angry. Doesn't matter. This means he can get angry too, now. He relishes in this as he watches Thor struggle with his thoughts, then start again, stumbling on his own words :

"I don't know what to make of you. Time and time again I lend you a hand, and you keep on proving me you can't be trusted. But yet you keep blaming me, keep chattering on about how I mistreated you, how I failed you, how I was never a good brother to you. How have you been a good brother to me Loki ? By having me banished from my own kingdom ? By betraying me ? Trying to kill me ? Invading Earth ? Faking your own death several times, leaving me to mourn and grieve for you while you were just scheming behind my back ? Stranding our father on earth and leaving him there to die ? And then betraying me again ? Can you even conceive how indulgent I've been of you Loki, letting you come with us, saving you from a certain death ? And now that I've done all this, you're not satisfied still ? You expect more of me ? How entitled can you be, Brother, to think I still owe you somehow ? "

 _There_. There it is. The arrogance. The blame. He knew that would come, and yet it angers him still, like a red veil before his eyes, ad the words escape from clenched teeth, contorting his face in a ugly, twisted smirk of rage, but he does not care for façades.  
"I expect nothing from you, nor am I grateful for your pity. I never asked for it. I refuse to be your charity case, brother. I refuse to be thankful for the fact that you cling to me to feel benevolent. It makes you feel good to think that you have done what you can to save me, doesn't it ?" Furious, he parrots, in a high-pitched, mocking tone" _'Oh, that Loki, I've done all I could to save him, but still he's a no-good, still he won't talk to me ! Well yelp, guess I've donne all I could_!' Well I can take care of myself, brother, so don't you _dare_ patronise me, and don't you _dare look down on me_ !"  
Knowing how he would sound, he does not add _Of course you owe me. You made me. I was born from you mockery, your adequacy, your chivalry. I owe you my bitterness and you owe me everything._  
It sounds lonely, it sounds whiny and he hates it. He does not say it, though he burns to.  
Anyway, what he has already said suffices.

" I have done all I could for you ! I have tried everything ! Being nice to you, saving you, nothing is ever enough ! You always see things your way ! You think you know better than everyone. You think you can read into me, tell me what I think, twist my words into whatever you want them to mean ! I am tired of this. Nothing is ever right with you. Have I not told you already ? I never thought little of you. I never looked down on you. What else would you want me to say ?"

 _An_ _apology_. And then so much more. He wants to drag him down from his pedestal, rub his face in the dirt, and then say, See, see, this is how it feels. This how it feels to be me. He wants him to lose composure, wants him to be little, and pathetic, and miserable, so that, for once, he can feel good about himself.

He wants him to stop being so confident, he wants him to look upon himself and doubt, and realise how much wrong he has done him. He wants him to beg and grovel. Wants him to be weak. Wants to be free of this anger, wants to quench these ghosts that haunts him, want to stomp on the shame that rises in him, always, burning way more than any sorrow could.

 _An_ _apology_ , he'd say, but he knows how it sounds, and knows he cannot ask for it. Will not. Same conclusion. For Thor to say it, he would have to explain everything, to open himself and let him see what's in his gut, the resentment he has carried under his skin, made greater which each word, each dismissal, each laughter. He would have to show him all that is ugly and inadequate in him, and all that is fragile and twisted by hurt, by envy. He would have to show every one of his buttons and how to push them, and he cannot do it. He won't. He has exposed himself enough. He feels like he's dripping, bleeding all over the floor. He feels raw and foolish, and he feels belittled, and it feels _familiar_.

He feels inadequate. He is inadequate.  
He is trapped in this net, this mess of dark, ugly thoughts, cannot seem to make sense of them.  
_'I never thought little of you'_  
'I thought the world of you'  
So easy for him to say that. He never had to second-guess. His abilities were never questioned.  
So easy to say that, when you don't know humiliation. Debasement.  
Ridiculous.  
He realises suddenly that he is breathing hard. Too hard. He is losing control. Dammit. _Dammit_. He grasps, desperate, for something to say, and ends up hissing, cornered :  
"You said the words I had been dying to hear like they were easy to say."  
Thor seems to have not expected that. Of course. Stupid. He know he has said too much, revealed too much. _Stupid_. He can only curse himself.  
"What are you talking about ?" Thor asks, hesitant, and Loki could cry. He really could. The King doesn't remember. Of course he doesn't. Words like these, they mean nothing to him. Not as much as they mean to Loki, anyway, and that's what matters. _Stupid_. Showing his game, letting him see. _Stupid_.  
"Is this about what I said in the elevator ?"  
He won't say it. He won't. That's enough. That's too much already. He should leave. Now. Find a way to get off this ship, even if it gets them all blown up in pieces in the infinity of space. That, he could handle. He closes his eyes.  
Thor says " That's it, right ?"  
No.  
" They _were_ easy to say. It's the truth. I am not ashamed of it."  
A sigh. Of _course_.  
"Then shut up. Do not talk anymore. The words that matters are never easy to say. Yours mean nothing."  
Composure. _Composure_. He struggles to find it. But it's okay. It's good. He has said it. It's out there, at least. At last.  
He said it.  
It is not closure. It's the same old record playing over and over again. Once again they will part, their quarrel unresolved. But it's too hard to ask for what he wants. Apologies. Forgiveness. It is not worth it anymore. Things are too complicated now, too twisted.  
Murder and patricide stand between them now, and it is too trying to try and entangle years and decades of resentment, betrayals, grievances.  
He has build an armour around his wounds, and he won't let anyone see what it conceals. He cannot let anyone hurt him now. For all they hate his mask, he can handle their disdain.But to show his true self and see it denied, this, this would kill him. This would undo him, ruin him completely, leave him shattered in a million pieces, and he cannot let that happen to him. He is fated to be more than this. His destiny lies somewhere, far from the ashes of Asgard. He has to protect himself, for he his on his own. Has always been.  
This was just a harsh reminder.  
Thor has resumed speaking, but he does not listen anymore. His mind is made.  
He will bear this journey, for he cannot escape, but then he will be on his way. Asgard has fallen. Odin is dead. Thor still stands, but he will have to accommodate. Work around it. Find a way to live with this itching, right between his shoulder blades, that reminds him that those that wronged him still live, still laugh, still run their wicked mouths.  
He has to disappear then. Get out of their grasp. Vanish to a place far enough, grand enough, that their voices will finally fade in the great void of the world.  
He will find a way : he is nothing if not resilient.  
In determination, he find clarity. Good. Thor's voice has faded away, now. The other's will vanish soon, as well.  
There'll be nothing left in him of the Aesir, Loki Odinson.  
He will wear his blue skin.  
Change his name.  
He finds comfort in this, deconstructing himself, reducing his identity to a bare structure.  
He his malleable. He will rise again, from the ashes of Asgard.  
And leave everything else to burn with it.  
The things that could have been. The things that should have been.  
The things that were.  
He will leave them all here, dying with the golden realm.  
He will forget them all, the golden people and their golden king.  
May they be damned, the whole lot of them.  
May they all fall to dust.  
He will rise.  
And he will burn.

He leaves the room, without once looking back. He is back. Unfazed. Unruffled. He has his work cut out for him, his course set, his path laid before his eyes.  
In this, at last, he finds clarity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About Thor Ragnarok : I just feel like the movie couldn't decide what genre it wanted to be, so it's kind of a patchwork of different genre crammed together. Sometimes it's like a comedy, to the point where it can get annoying (your world is dying dammit), sometimes like an action movie (with edgy and predictable one-liners), sometimes like a French indie movie about a father who ran in Norway cause he was dying, leaving a heavy burden on the shoulder of his rebellious popular son and his edgy gay tuxedo-wearing one.  
> The cast is good but I think the director failed to give any good clear line of action to the actors who are kind of on their own : Chris Hemsworth, Tom Hiddleston and Benedict Cumberbatch are okay as far as I'm concerned, Anthony Hopkins gives us some real good stuff (even though his part is.... sigh). Cate Blanchett's acting is edgy and pretty bad, Mark Ruffalo is...on drugs. That's the only explanation that makes sense to me. Same for the actor who plays Hogun, I don't know wtf got through him.  
> Thor has no defined personnality, sometimes he's serious and worried about his kingdom, sometimes he's funny and uncaring, sometimes he is super confident and other times he is super awkward, sometimes he is oblivious and other times he's like super intelligent.  
> Loki has the worst character développement of all. It's like a character regression at this point. He is literally the comic relief of this film. That's pretty much it. Even the Valkyrie (who doesn't even have a name btw) is more relevant to the plot than him even though he's been here for 3 movies already. I'm so mad cause he's a character with crazy potential aaaand... no. The only time where they develop something interesting (in the elevator) it lasts only 30 seconds and then it ends up with a joke at his expense. Dammit (Loki is the butt of so many jokes in this film I was practically dying with second hand embarrassment. God.) the only good character was Korg as far as I'm concerned.  
> Anyway, it felt more like a comedy than anything else, which is weird for a movie about Asgard being fucking destroyed. It has the darkest line of events yet but somehow it's also the lightest Thor movie of them all. Who knows. It was really funny and entertaining though, and I probably would have liked it if it wasn't fucking Thor Ragnarok.  
> Special mention for the SFX which are pretty bad. For the most part the movie looked like a video game.  
> Aaannd that's it. That was my little rant. I was pretty mad about it yesterday which is why I wrote this story as a... a crutch I guess  
> Please leave your thoughts on the story and the moue in the comments.  
> Love, b y e


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back again, apparently.  
> Note that while I'm going to try and set up a storyline, there isn't going to be a defined "plot". This is more about the internal struggles of the character. A journey, I'd say.
> 
> As always, English is not my first language, do feel free to correct me if a mistake finds its way into the text, it would help me lots.

The ship sails. Floats. Flies. Whatever one would call the way it dwells space, crosses the inconceivable distances separating them from their destination. 

Life goes on. Dull. Domestic. Well, not for him, certainly. Dull, of course, but he tries as much as he can not to let himself be sucked into domesticity. Routine. For a reason he cannot be bothered to figure out, he tries to keep himself apart from the rest of the occupants of this ship. As one could predict, it is not so difficult. Even his brother leaves him in relative peace. He is starting to resign, he knows. The pattern has repeated once again : hope and disappointment. By staying on this ship, he got his brother's hopes up, and by trying to speak honestly with him, by making this mess of himself and finally escape - which Thor doesn't understand, couldn't possibly - he has let him down. It is a well-worn game by now. Thor hoping to finally get him back, and him, ruining it all. This game will not last much longer, however. They both tire of it.

As he sits in a corner of the mess, he is alone, and looks at Thor, who is never.

Suddenly he feels impossibly wary. That's it. He doesn't think he can take anymore of this. Just looking at him, all golden and cocky, makes him feel exhausted, makes him want to avert his gaze.

That's it.  
He is tired of this. Of self-pity, anguish, self-consciousness. Tired of second guessing. It's getting him nowhere.  
He is tired of pathos, of grand tirades, of flamboyance. Can't bear the idea of putting on a show all over again.  
He is used to acting unflappable but he tires of the act. Always tried to live by faking it until he could make it, but times and times again he fakes and nothing changes. He is tired of being his same flawed self. Tired of struggling with the same old demons. He is old now, but still as frightened and helpless as when he was a child. Decades, centuries have passed, and still he is not getting better. He dreads he is getting worse.  
He looks at his brother now, and he feels impossibly tiny. Ridiculous.

That's it.  
Still trying to get to him now, to get under his skin, after all this time. He feels ashamed, pathetic, to still be coming back, again and again, still be trapped in this awful resentment. Each time Thor is changed, and each time he isn't. Still grasping, clinging to old grudges. Was he so wronged? He knows they have not done right by him, but that was so long ago that he feels like it does not matter anymore. Although it does, surely. But nonetheless, he feels stupid, know, for not being able to get over it. To build himself anew. Everyone seems to be moving forward, and still he is here, same as he always was, rotting on the inside from all this rancour.

That's it.  
He does not know what he wants, but he knows what he wishes not.  
He does not want to end like this, still mired in this web of dark thoughts. He does not want to keep coming back to this land, again and again.  
Maybe he knows what he wants, in the end.  
He wants free.  
He wants to stop caring. Stop wanting. Stop being so desperate.  
He keeps on wishing for his brother to open his eyes, realise, apologise, to finally grasp the immensity of the hurt he has caused; and only now he starts to resign to the fact that it probably will never happen. That for things to go the way he wants, he would have not to wait for the pieces to fall into place, but ask for them. And he will not.

He deflates, already.  
It was only moments ago, it seems, that he felt like getting back on his feet, leaving this god forsaken ship, and building his own empire. Now, though, he sees how ultimately purposeless it would all be. Fruitless.  
He hate that he is so volatile. He hates that he can't seem to stay on a straight path, cannot seem to stay the course of his desires : every time he settles for one, it never lasts. Every time he vows to follow through, he quits. When he thinks about it, really, he realises that all he is trying to build is futile, and he just gives up. Maybe out of laziness, but he thinks it is a lack of proper motivation, rather. Nothing seems worth it, is all. He lacks convictions, and that prevents him from having big projects. He feels stuck in this awkward place between not caring, and caring too much : he does not care enough to build something properly, to commit to it; but somehow, he still is bothered by it, cannot accept that he is satisfied with so little. Maybe he is not. Maybe he needs more to satisfy him, but he just cannot be bothered to actually try to get it.  
He is a mess. Never at ease with his own thoughts, with what he thinks. He just can't seems to find some peace of mind.  
When he really thinks of it, everything is pointless. His problems too, his endless wondering. In this, at least, he can find some comfort.  
But then he finds that even though he knows that, he still cares; he cannot keep his detached facade, and it just feels like another jibe _see, you can't live like that._  
He seeks balance, but cannot seem to find where it lies. He doesn't even know where he stands.

He thinks that maybe he keeps coming back to his brother, to their enmity, because it is what he knows. It is the only constant throughout his life.  
He remembers how much they loved each other once. How deeply this love ran. When it was just the two of us against the rest of the world. He misses this sometimes. Often. When he manages to think beyond his anger, he feels the loss of it. But his brother feels out of reach, now. Unattainable. Their dispute, irremediable. He does not think they can get back what they had. There are other people to account for, now. It is not just the two of them any longer. It makes his feel melancholic, even though he knows, deep down, that it is not what he would want, anyway. He thinks that maybe he misses the ability to find this bond again, rather that the bond itself.

What he knows for certain is that he feels lost, once again. Because all he was built on has been swept away, he feels like he is drifting, without anything to anchor him, to guide him, to let him know what to do next.

He knows that this state of mind won't last, that tomorrow he will be back to plotting, raging, or whatever else he does.  
He is volatile, changeable. He feels like his mind is always moving, shifting, that his beliefs are elastic. What brings him down today will leave him unaffected tomorrow. He cannot give weight to his own thoughts and feelings, for they always change. No wonder no one attaches any importance to them, either. No wonder nobody cares.  


There it is. Discouragement.This track of thoughts is getting him nowhere. He is tired. That is all.  
Wary.  
Exhausted.  
He gets up and leaves the mess.  
Tomorrow, all will be different. In this, at least, he finds comfort.


End file.
